


(you make me) blush

by Vilna



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilna/pseuds/Vilna
Summary: 4. "I wouldn't trade my magic for anything," Lavellan says. She taps her lips with a forefinger. "But… it's not a fate I wish for my own son."― solavellan drabbles.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. halamshiral

**Author's Note:**

> I'll gather my small solavellan drabbles/ficlets here for safe-keeping! ♥
> 
> marked as complete but more drabbles are on their way! rating will most likely go up as well.

Halamshiral is:

fancy Orlesian accents, pointed looks and snide comments that burn their way deep into her core, fine wine and food she has never tasted before and, of course, one must not forget the intriguing assassin’s plot she saved Empress Celene from only an hour ago.

It’s everything she feared, beyond expectations. But Halamshiral is also everything she dreamed about. This is the city of her people. The end of a journey. A beginning. Impossible to think about, sometimes. The wave of sadness she feels is almost chronic. 

Lavellan’s painted fingernails crush into the fold of her dress as she watches an elven servant scrubbing the marble floor, completely ignored by the nobles prancing about. She drinks her flute of wine empty.

Josephine had the dress made for her. A stern human seamstress measured Lavellan with a disappointed click of their tongue at the first sight of her almost bare body. Too soft. Too much scarring. Poor posture. And the worst: not slim enough for an elf.

But, the dress does end up being impossibly lovely and Lavellan adores it with her whole heart. It’s silky and pale pink in colour, like nothing she has ever worn before. She briefly thinks about how the clan used to be her whole world. Not too long ago Lavellan knew nothing else, but endless green forests and the quiet noise of the aravels wheels rolling forward on the road.

Look at her now.

She touches her face. Traces the raised skin of her vallaslin with a fingertip. Will she ever belong in this world that would strip her off of everything she is? Can she ever trust it?

Lavellan’s throat is dry as noble with a mask that covers her whole face starts approaching her. She flees with as much of grace as she can, not looking back even as he hears a few judgemental scoffs behind her.

She crashes straight into Solas’ arms.

“Evening.”

Solas smiles down at her, tender and kind, and Lavellan goes immediately breathless. She likes him so much it’s aching to be ridiculous. He makes her feel… disorientated. Unfocused. Yet, she welcomes it. 

“Hello,” she answers with a tipped chin. He’s warm against her, comforting. She trusts him like no one else.

“Enjoying yourself, vhenan?” he asks lightly. He hesitates before stroking her cheekbone with his dry knuckle.

Lavellan sighs. “Not particularly,” she admits too quietly to her own liking. Solas cocks his head, a silent invitation. She takes it.

“I really want to go home,” Lavellan says, meeting Solas’ eyes with her own.

Just imagine knowing what a home actually _is_.

Some people have it so easy, she thinks.

“Come with me,” Solas says and folds his fingers into her own, gently tugging her along, a rare public display of affection— especially in a place like this.

He leads her to a private balcony, away from the nobles’ gazes, and all the way there, he holds her hand despite the stares and whispers. Inquisitor’s elven serving-man, they called him. It makes her angry.

“A moment for breathing,” Solas explains in the cool night.

“Thank you,” Lavellan murmurs, stroking her hand across the hand railing, “I appreciate it.”

They’re quiet and alone.

“You look beautiful,” Solas says then, almost suddenly, stepping closer to and tucking a hair strand behind her ear.

“But not myself,” Lavellan answers after a pause. Her cheeks feel warm.

Solas pauses. “No. Perhaps not,” he admits. His hand slips to her shoulder as she steps closer, so much closer. He smells nice, Lavellan thinks idly, with her nose is pressed onto the root of his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers a little wetly and endlessly sorrowful.

Solas only holds her tighter as if to protect her from the world.


	2. fadestep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't need his help but Solas, of course, has no reason to know that.

"I can't quite get it right," Lavellan says which is massive fucking _lie_ ; she came into her magic when she was 6 years old and could do the fadestep while sleepwalking if she felt like she had a reason to brag.

She doesn't need his help but Solas, of course, has no reason to know that.

They've only known each other for mere two weeks at this point so they're hardly familiar with each other-- never mind with the whole repertoire of their magical abilities. They've seen each other fight, yes, but that doesn't honestly tell as much as one might think.

Lavellan is pretty sure she hasn't seen even half of the power Solas truly seems to possess. He's reserved and unboastful even though he clearly has a reason to.

It's not a lie to say that it's one of the things that makes him so eternally fascinating to her. 

Yes, Lavellan already likes him far too much despite the little time they've spent together. She's absolutely ridiculous and knows it, thank you very much.

"Truly?" Solas asks and comes beside her to the outskirts of the camp, slipping the book he was reading under his arm. He doesn't sound exactly doubtful, but rather surprised instead.

Lavellan shrugs voicelessly, trying to keep her expression as genuine as possible when Solas looks down at her, studying her with unreadable eyes.

"Show me, please," he says then with an accompanying gesture. He's very close to her now, the warmth of his body radiating like a beacon. It makes her breath hitch, just a little.

Lavellan closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before reaching for the magic swirling at the very essence of herself. She takes a step forward before flurrying in a quick blur to the other side of the clearing.

She makes sure to make it clumsy, just a little bit off without making her look like a fool or wholly incompetent. Solas watches her the whole time and his heavy gaze on her every move makes her feel... safe. Secure. Protected.

She's almost forgotten how those things even feel like.

_Curious,_ Lavellan thinks to herself as she fadesteps back to Solas who is waiting for her with his hand hovering near his lips with yet another unknown look on his face.

"You are very good-- clearly more talented than you give yourself credit for," he says, the compliment surprising Lavellan enough to make her blush. "Which is why I wonder: what makes you struggle with this particular spell?"

_I don't,_ she wants to say, _I'm just a wretched young woman who doesn't know how to get to know the people she finds compelling._

For a moment, Lavellan thinks of what Solas would say about her honesty, about these words. She can't quite read the man well enough to hazard a guess yet.

Maybe she will learn even the hidden depths of him in time.

"I guess I just never got the hang of it properly," she says instead. A little white lie has never hurt anyone. Or that's how she likes to think, at least.

Solas actually chuckles at her answer. "I find that very hard to believe," he answers, seemingly amused. Lavellan is not sure whether she imagines the slight nuance of a flirtation or not.

"But no matter," Solas continues quickly enough, leaving her no space for an answer. "I can show you if you wish so," he offers, the suggestion almost tentative in a way she hasn't seen him express before.

Lavellan smiles gently and tucks an escaped curl of hair behind her ear. She ignores the slight feeling of guilt and says,

"I'd like that."


	3. da'len

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your son is an incredibly intelligent small boy, Inquisitor," Solas remarks suddenly. His words are completely genuine, Lavellan notes. Solas watches Yevin as he starts fidgeting in boredom and with quick reflexes grabs away an open inkpot before Yevin has the chance to knock it over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal headcanon about my Lavellan's son who comes to Skyhold after the death of their Clan. Incredibly self-indulgent and ridiculous, feel free to skip if you're not into super personalized Inquisitors in fic.

Believe it or not, but Lavellan is actually not the one to introduce her son to Solas.

It's, in fact, the little boy himself.

Yevin might be only four years old, but he has the tendency to... wander. He's forever curious beyond imagining, about anything and everything, always so endearingly eager to learn and explore the world he's not yet ready for.

Lavellan adores him beyond measure, he's the most important person in the world to her-- the one she would kill and die for a hundred times over. The light of her life she never wants to see extinguished.

Which is why it's alarming that Yevin is also so incredibly easy to lose track of.

One moment he's beside her and the next he's nowhere to be seen as if he has vanished into thin air. Skyhold is a vast place but Lavellan has stopped being too worried every time he has disappeared in the last three days after his arrival. There's always someone who has seen him or, more often than not, someone who finds Lavellan first before she has even noticed he has wandered away from her presence again.

This time, though, Lavellan can't find Yevin anywhere and she's getting truly concerned bit by bit. She has usually found him somewhere with Sera-- only Creators know what the two of them are up to most of the time. Lavellan doesn't really want to know.

She shakes her head as she heads down the hallway into the library. "Solas, have you seen--?"

Lavellan stops.

And blinks.

Yevin is there, standing on Solas' chair with his tiny fists leaning on the desk, listening intently as Solas points out a spot on a large map laid in front of them, explaining something with admirable patience. His voice is gentle and soothing as the boy keeps bombarding him with questions before he has even finished talking about the current subject.

Lavellan crosses her arms and watches them silently for a few minutes, a genuine smile blooming on her face at the sight of the two of them being so focused on their conversation. Even Solas hasn't noticed her.

Finally, she decides to let them know she's found them. "Da'len," Lavellan calls out softly and both Solas and Yevin look up at her in surprise.

"Mae!" Yevin yells and almost falls down from the chair in his enthusiasm. Solas steadies him quickly, however, by gently pulling him by his shoulder to balance him again.

"Inquisitor," Solas greets her with a nod of his head, his voice making her breath hitch just for a moment.

Then Lavellan beams. "Solas."

Solas watches her for a long while before clearing his throat a few times.

"What are the two of you up to?" Lavellan asks and closes the distance between them, peering down at the map laid in the desk.

It's an old map of the Dales, corners frayed and the colour yellow with age. Lavellan feels a strong pang of sadness watching it. To think that elves almost had everything they needed for a new beginning.

"Mr Solas is really smart, Mae!" Yevin yells excitedly, almost making his mother flinch in surprise. "He knows lots of things!"

Lavellan smiles, bending down to stroke Yevin's pale blonde hair with her fingers. Her gaze meets Solas' eyes. "Is that so, m'hallain?" she says fondly, pressing a small kiss to her son's head. Yevin nods.

"I like Mr Solas," he decides, making Lavellan laugh gently. She's not sure whether she imagines the slight redness on Solas' cheeks.

"I like him, too," Lavellan says softly, brushing her cold fingers against the back of Solas' hand as if on accident.

This is the first time they have seen each other since their first kiss in the Fade. Things between them are new, fragile, even tender. Something not yet fully explored. Yet, already Lavellan feels so much for him, she can't quite describe it even inside the privacy of her own mind.

"Your son is an incredibly intelligent small boy, Inquisitor," Solas remarks suddenly. His words are completely genuine, Lavellan notes. Solas watches Yevin as he starts fidgeting in boredom and with quick reflexes grabs away an open inkpot before Yevin has the chance to knock it over.

Solas smiles, looking completely unbothered by Yevin's presence. It makes Lavellan wonder how long Solas has been keeping an eye on her son, how long they've already spent time together when she found them.

The thought of Solas willingly looking after her son, makes her feel emotions she can't describe.

"He made a good first impression then?" Lavellan asks with a pleased grin.

"He possesses true wisdom and will to learn at such a young age."

Lavellan lifts her eyebrow, something warm growing inside her heart. "Does he now?"

Solas nods seriously. "He most definitely takes after his mother," he continues quietly as if he's not sure whether the sentiment is welcome or not.

"Sweet talker," Lavellan murmurs, the words already like a memory. Solas huffs out a tender chuckle which makes Lavellan shiver.

"I try," Solas answers.

They look at each other for a long while, almost forgetting everything else before Yevin lets out a small yawn and Lavellan turns to pick him up from Solas' chair into her arms.

Yevin curls his small arms around Lavellan's neck, pressing his head under her jaw. He is already close to sleep.

"Thank you," Lavellan says quietly, hugging Yevin close to her chest, her heart constricting in her chest when Solas leans down to lightly stroke Lavellan's cheek with the back of his knuckles.

"For what?"

His voice is impossibly quiet. Something in the moment aches.

"For being you."


	4. enquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wouldn't trade my magic for anything," Lavellan says. She taps her lips with a forefinger. "But… it's not a fate I wish for my own son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one about Yevin, Solas & Lavellan. :')

"Has he shown any signs?" Solas asks one day almost out of the blue, making Lavellan lift her gaze in surprise from the book she’s reading under the gazebo.

Next to her, Solas is carefully eyeing Yevin where he's sitting on the ground, patiently plucking pretty flowers by the root in Skyhold's garden-- specifically the red tulips Mother Giselle herself planted earlier in the spring to "bring light in the bleak of darkness." Lavellan would stop him if not for the fact that Yevin is so impossibly delighted by the act that he's squealing with happiness every time the flower's stem breaks through the soil.

It takes only a short while for Lavellan to figure out what Solas is talking about. She turns her own gaze to Yevin as well.

"No," she says breathily after a pause, shaking her head. She bites her lower lip. "Though I can't say I'm not immensely happy about it."  
Solas frowns, just for a moment. It’s so small and disappears quickly enough that Lavellan doesn't mind it.

"I cannot say I blame you," he admits finally. Lavellan smiles. "It is not easy being someone with magical talent in this world we know today."  
Lavellan nods. One of Mother Giselle's sisters is openly glaring at her young boy though she’s not bold enough to go ahead and scold the Inquisitor's own son.

"I wouldn't trade my magic for anything," Lavellan says truthfully. She taps her lips with a forefinger. "But… it's not a fate I wish for my own son if that makes sense to you. Call me a hypocrite," Lavellan says with a small embarrassed laugh, but Solas does nothing of the sort.

"You are not," he says, touching her shoulder lightly, his fingers warm against her skin. Lavellan moves to entwine their hands together, the gesture casual but more than they usually do in public.

"More than anything I wish my son to be safe," Lavellan says after a moment. "Magic is not safe. It's a gift, yes, but it comes with quite a few attachments." 

"Maybe I wouldn't feel differently, were I in your place," Solas murmurs kindly.

"Thank you," Lavellan answers, just as quietly. She's a little taken back by his statement but she appreciates his words even if she's not completely sure about their honesty.

Solas clears his throat. Lavellan isn’t sure whether she imagines a blush on his cheeks. "Who is his…?"

"A hunter from a different clan, actually. I met him in Arlathvhen," Lavellan replies, easily enough. This is the first time Solas has asked. "We bonded after I became pregnant with Yevin. He's dead now."

Solas only nods. He doesn't enquire any details which Lavellan feels no small amount of gratefulness for. Some wounds will never heal properly.  
They're quiet for a while, their fingers still loosely touching and folded between them. Lavellan brings the back of Solas' hand to her lips.

"You're a good mother," Solas says then and Lavellan accidentally snorts aloud.

"You don't think so?" he asks, sounding almost truly worried for her. She shakes her head with amusement.

"I think a good mother wouldn't let her son defile a Chantry Mother's garden," Lavellan laughs, pointing a finger at Yevin, his soil-covered face and the utterly destroyed flowerbed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and any kinds of comments are equally treasured. ♥


End file.
